


Daisy Johnson in Love

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cooking, Cousy RomCom Challenge, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Inspired by a Movie, Misunderstandings, Mutual Masturbation, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, playfulness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: AU: Daisy unexpectedly finds herself falling for Phil Coulson following a misunderstanding.





	Daisy Johnson in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> An AU inspired by, but in no way following, _Lana in Love_ , which starred Clark Gregg as a plumber who's mistaken for Lana's date. This has been gender-swapped, so Daisy's mistaken for Coulson's date. Written for the johnsonandcoulson Cousy RomCom Challenge on Tumblr.

“You’re younger than I was expecting you to be,” are almost the first words out of the mouth of Daisy’s new client.

She frowns at him. “Does that matter?” she asks, wondering if this Phil Coulson fella thinks she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She supposes it’s nice that he doesn’t assume she can’t fix his computer because she’s a woman – she’s had to deal with that bullshit often enough before.

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” he says quickly, actually looking mortified. “So long as it doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” she asks, a bit confused now.

“Uh, no reason, I guess.” He swallows, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Sorry, I guess I’m a bit nervous.”

She frowns at him. “There’s no need to be nervous,” she tells him. “I know what I’m doing, despite my youth and gender.”

He looks confused at this, then visibly gets a grip on himself, and asks, “Can I get you something to drink?”

She’s about to tell him she doesn’t make a habit of drinking and working, but decides to accept the offer in the hope that he’ll relax and tell her where his computer is. “Sure,” she says.

“Red or white wine?” he asks.

“Um, I’d prefer a beer if you got some.”

He seems confused all over again and she wonders whether he’s actually okay. He seems unduly nervous for a man who’s going to get his computer fixed; apprehension she could more easily understand since so many men think women are no good at fixing computers, but this isn’t exactly anxiety. Fortunately he nods, then beckons, and she figures he’s going to show her where his computer is, so she follows him – only to find herself in the kitchen/dining room where a table is laid with an actual linen tablecloth (who even uses those anymore? she wonders), and candles in fancy candlesticks are waiting to be lit. Daisy hopes that whatever his computer problem is can be fixed quickly if he’s expecting company to dinner.

“Have a seat,” he says with a quick gesture at the dining table, and she frowns at his back as he moves over to the fridge in the corner, then she shrugs and sits down, putting her laptop in its case down on the floor by her feet. She’s careful not to muss the linen, which looks like he might’ve inherited it from his mother, or possibly his grandmother. She’s gazing in amazement at the elaborately folded linen napkins that are on either side of the two place settings when he puts a glass of beer down beside her. Who pours beer into a glass, she wonders, then thinks that it’d probably only be the kind of person who has a linen tablecloth and napkins.

“Thanks,” she says, and takes a sip to be polite. He takes a seat opposite her, which just increases her confusion at this situation. “Something smells good.” She’s just trying to get him to relax right now, because it’s obvious to her that he’s still nervous.

“Thanks.” His entire face lights up and she can see him visibly relax as he starts talking animatedly about the chicken dinner he’s made, and despite her desire to get on with her job, she finds herself relaxing in the face of his obvious enthusiasm. He’s clearly a bit of a dork, which she finds very endearing.

Before she’s aware of it, she’s drunk her beer, and her client takes her empty glass, then moves back to the kitchen part of the room, and a few moments later, he starts bringing the food over to the table.

“Uh, I should probably get going –” she begins awkwardly.

“You don’t want to have dinner with me?” he asks, looking stricken – for some reason his expression reminds her of a little baby deer she once saw. 

“Well, it’s very sweet of you, but I really only came – you know what, sure,” Daisy says, changing tack, because she cannot bear that crestfallen expression a second longer. It’s pretty unconventional, but he’s not giving her a creepster vibe – he hasn’t hit on her at all. He’s kinda sweet and, though she hesitates to use the word of a man she doesn’t know, soft – too many of the men she’s known, or simply met through work, are tough, manly men with no soft edges to them. This guy, this Phil Coulson, though, seems soft and gentle, and completely unlike any other white guy she’s met before. She’s met plenty of black guys who are gentle and have a guarded softness to them – Mike, and Trip, and Mack, spring immediately to mind – even Andrew, her ex-psychologist, had his softer moments – but guys like Lincoln and Miles, her ex-boyfriends, were never this soft, not even during sex. This guy makes her want to call him Bambi, which is a new thing – she doesn’t usually give her clients nicknames.

He serves up an absolutely delicious chicken dinner, with white wine to accompany it, and at first she’s really careful to only sip the wine since she still has to sort out his computer problems, and she’ll find it harder to concentrate if she’s tipsy. 

But as he relaxes over the food, and his dorkiness becomes even more obvious, she forgets about her resolve not to drink too much, and by the time they’ve moved onto a really delicious raspberry cheesecake, which he admits to having made rather than bought at the store, she’s had more than two glasses of wine, it might even be three, she thinks fuzzily. 

She helps him to clear the table, carrying the empty dishes and flatware over to the kitchen counter, then she looks around. “Where’s your dishwasher?”

He smiles, a really beautiful smile, she thinks distractedly. “I, uh, I don’t have one. Could never afford one when I was younger – most of my salary went on the mortgage for this place, and doing it up – and by the time I could afford one, I couldn’t be bothered to rearrange the kitchen to fit one in.”

She nods. Then grabs the bottle of dish soap and squeezes some into the sink as she starts the taps running.

“Oh wait, no –” He reaches out for the tap, and she clasps his wrist, chuckling at his worried look. “Look, I don’t expect you to do the dishes for me, you’re my guest.”

“Relax, Phil,” she says. “I may be a modern woman, but I’m not above doing the dishes. And it’s the least I can do by way of thanks for that absolutely divine dinner.”

“Daisy,” he says, a bit plaintively.

“Phil.” She draws his name out, laughing a little, then she dips her free hand, the one that’s not still clasping his wrist (and why is she clasping his wrist still? she wonders vaguely), into the soap bubbles and flicks some at him.

He looks thunderstruck for a moment, then growls. “Oh you’re in so much trouble now, young lady.” He scoops up far more bubbles and flicks them at her, and she decides she’s glad that she’s wearing a flannel shirt over a tank and jeans – nothing that’ll get damaged if they have a full-on water fight.

“This means war, mister!” she cries, and scoops up water in her palm, as well as soap bubbles, and splashes him in the face.

“You’re dead, Johnson!” He lunges at her, laughing like a child, and she dodges away from him, then bumps against a cabinet – unsurprisingly since this is an unfamiliar kitchen. He comes towards her, mounds of soap bubbles in the palms of both his hands, and he grabs her face, making her shriek with horrified laughter as the water runs down her neck and onto her collarbones.

She grabs his hips, then goes for his ribs, tickling him until he’s shrieking and begging for mercy in a very sexy, raspy voice. “Get on your knees and beg, Coulson,” she says bossily, then wonders at herself.

To her complete surprise he obeys immediately, holding onto her legs as he sinks down to the floor in front of her. He rests his cheek against her belly, and says in an unbearably soft voice, “Mercy, please, Daisy.”

She runs a hand over his hair, and feels him shudder, then she grabs hold of the top of his ear and tugs until he’s staring up at her, his expression intense, and she can’t help thinking he looks so desirable.

“I’ll be merciful this once,” she tells him, “if you get up and kiss me.”

He quickly gets to his feet, then places his palms on her cheeks, before leaning in to kiss her with a sort of eager tenderness that makes her want him. She’s not so drunk, however, that she’s gonna have sex with someone who’s still essentially a stranger, so she kisses him back, but when his hands drift towards her breasts, she grabs his wrists and holds them. He pulls back immediately.

“Sorry, I – uh – I should’ve asked,” he says, and she can tell that he’s not that drunk that he can’t realise what he’s doing and stop himself.

“That’s okay,” she tells him. “I did make you kneel at my feet, then tell you to kiss me.” 

His body’s still pressed against hers, and she can feel his erection, even though they’re both wearing jeans. He must be huge, she thinks, a thrill going through her. But she doesn’t fuck on first dates – not that this is a date, strictly speaking.

“Hey, look, this is a lot of fun, and I’d love to do it again some time very soon, but I think I’m gonna need a pot of strong coffee if I’m gonna fix your computer for you.”

He frowns at her, and she can’t help thinking he looks adorable when he’s frowning, and good god, she’s so far gone, isn’t she? “My computer?” he repeats. “There’s nothing wrong with my computer.”

“Huh?” she says, confused and lacking in eloquence because she’s had too much to drink.

“Is that why you brought your laptop?” he asks, gesturing back towards the dining table.

“Yeah. I – uh – I thought you’d called me to get your laptop fixed,” she says. “But judging by your confused face, you didn’t.” She frowns. “Wait, who did you think I was, if not your computer technician?”

“Uh, well.” He looks away from her, blushing, which just increases his adorableness in her semi-drunken state. “My date,” he says finally. “I ran a personal ad, and –”

“Oh my god,” she says, not sure whether she laugh or cry. “That explains your comment about me being younger than you expected, and you asking whether the age gap would bother me.”

“I am such an idiot,” he says mournfully. He starts to move away, but she grabs his elbow and tugs gently, drawing him back towards her.

“We’re both idiots,” she points out. “After all, I thought you were my computer services client. And I couldn’t understand why you were offering me a drink or feeding me dinner.”

“So what happens now?” he asks.

“Well, I think you should make some of that strong coffee after all – because I am not about to try drunk-driving – and I’ll call my client and tell them my bike broke down, and arrange to go and see them first thing in the morning.”

“Bike?” he asks clearly fascinated, and she chuckles. He’d already mentioned his cherry red 1962 ‘vette earlier, so she’s not surprised he’s interested in her motorbike.

“Yes, Phil, I ride a motorbike, and I will definitely show it to you later.” She smirks. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He looks impossibly scandalised for a moment, which she finds hilarious, given he was on his knees begging her not too long ago, then his face melts into that dorky expression she’s beginning to find embarrassingly sexy. “You’re on,” he says. “Let me make the coffee. Why don’t you go into the sitting room while you call your client?”

She nods, then leans in and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, smiling nonchalantly when he gives her a wide-eyed look, then she heads into the sitting room to call her client. 

When Phil comes in carrying a tray holding a coffee pot and two mugs, plus a plate of delicious-looking chocolate cookies, he finds her scowling in annoyance. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

“My client was less than impressed with my tardiness, ineptitude, poor attitude, and work ethic,” she says. “He actually used all those terms.”

“He found someone else?” Phil asks.

“He did.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Let me make it up to you.” He actually reaches into his back pocket, and Daisy shakes her head, waving him off.

“No, don’t,” she says. “I don’t want your money. You’ve made it up to me already by giving me an absolutely delicious dinner. And making out with me until I almost broke my First Date Rule.”

He comes to sit beside her on the couch. “Your First Date Rule?” he asks, and pours two mugs of coffee.

“No fucking on the first date.”

He gives her this cocky little grin, and on any other man, it’d probably look gross, but on him it looks good. She finds it interesting that his cocky grin looks as good as him begging her on his knees. 

“I’m honoured,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes, then accepts one of the mugs of coffee from him before adding cream.

They drink two mugs of coffee while talking motorbikes and cars, then they go into his garage to look at ‘Lola’. And yes, it’s adorable that he named his car. After all, she named her metallic blue bike ‘Steve’, and yes, she’s a fan of the Captain America comics, she readily admits when he asks about the name.

They exchange numbers, and agree to meet up at Daisy’s next time, and she apologises in advance that the dinner she’ll be giving him won’t be as delicious. “Well, not unless I can persuade Trip to come over and cook for us both – and then disappear afterwards.”

“Trip?” Phil asks.

They’re standing on his porch as she had to come back inside for her laptop after looking at her bike.

“Antoine Triplett,” she says. “He runs a fabulous restaurant in my part of town, together with two of my other friends, Mike and Akela.” She blushes a bit as she adds, “They’re all exes of mine.”

His eyes go wide, and then he pushes her – not too hard – against the door and kisses her. She feels a bolt of desire hit her between the legs, and she can’t help moaning into his mouth as heat and moisture gather in her sex.

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps when he pulls away, both of them desperate for air.

“Don’t apologise,” she says. “I like impulsive kissing. But what brought that on?”

“You’re bisexual,” he says, and when she gives him a puzzled look, he adds, “I’m bisexual too, but I don’t know many other bi people.”

She smirks. “You’re gonna like my friends, then,” she says, and kisses him hard, one hand on his hip, the other clasping his arse. “When you come over on Thursday, bring condoms. And lube.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, and buries his face in the crook of her neck. “Daisy, you’re killing me.”

She can feel his rampant erection again. “Tell you what,” she says. “I don’t have to rush off. Let’s go back inside again.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, pulling away to look at her.

“I’m still not gonna fuck you, Phil,” she says, wanting him to be clear. “But there are other things we can do.”

He opens the door behind her, and they step back inside. She sets her laptop case down on the coffee table, then gestures to the couch. “Sit down, Phil.”

He obeys with alacrity, and she sits in the armchair opposite him. “Now get your cock out and jerk off for me.”

He groans loudly, then stands back up and unbuckles his belt before he unfastens his pants. He gives them a shove, and Daisy can’t help moaning when his cock springs into view: she’d wondered if he was going commando. He sits back down, his jeans bunched around his ankles, and cups his balls with one hand, before drawing his other hand up the length of his shaft.

“Take your shirt off,” she commands, and again he obeys quickly, and she finds herself growing more aroused: she’s not used to being obeyed so eagerly. She can’t help admiring the man in front of her – he must work out because he’s clearly well-muscled, and while she doesn’t normally go for hairy guys, she likes his salt-and-pepper chest hair, and the trail of it that goes from his belly to his crotch. Plus, he’s got hip dents, and she longs to climb onto the couch with him and taste every inch of him. But she doesn’t fuck on first dates.

“Okay, Phil, show me your moves,” she says, and he chuckles, then smirks, eyebrows raised, before beginning to stroke his cock. 

She gets more and more aroused as she watches his hand moving up and down his cock, his free hand squeezing and pinching his nipples, until eventually she says, “Stop a moment.”

He clutches the base of his cock, eyebrows raised and pupils blown with desire. “What’s up?” he asks, his voice raspy.

She can feel a blush heating her cheeks, but she gets to her feet and drops her own jeans, and her panties, and Phil looks as if he’d like nothing better than for her to join him on the couch. He moans quite loudly when she slouches down into the armchair, her knees spread open and slides her hand down between her thighs.

“Fuck, Daisy,” he groans.

She hasn’t done this in such a long time, and she’d forgotten just how exciting it can be, masturbating while watching someone else masturbating who’s watching you. As she feels her orgasm approaching she slides a bit further down in the chair so her ass is hanging half off the seat, which means she can spread her legs open further. Phil groans as she comes, her body jerking abruptly, but she doesn’t still her fingers, she just keeps going, because he hasn’t come yet, and then he hits his climax, and it’s her turn to groan as he pumps his seed onto his chest and belly.

Her fingers are still working inside her slick heat, working her towards a second orgasm, which she just knows is going to be bigger than the first.

“May I?” he asks, and she doesn’t really know what he’s asking, but she’s so far gone that she just nods, and then is surprised when he comes to kneel between her legs. He lifts them onto his shoulders, then leans in and begins lapping at her thighs, and she cries out sharply as her climax slams into her. 

She’s barely aware of Phil easing her fingers free of her sex and sucking them off, and she really only comes back to herself when he buries his face between her thighs and starts eating her out. She already knew, from the kisses they’d shared earlier, that Phil Coulson has a wicked mouth, but she discovers precisely _how_ wicked as he works her up to a third orgasm that leaves her limp and spent, and almost on the floor.

He helps her up to her feet, then leads her to the bathroom, and they end up showering together, with a lot of kissing and fondling, but no actual sex.

By the time she leaves Phil’s place it’s nearly midnight, and she’s had a much nicer evening than she can remember having in a long time. She finds she’s really looking forward to Thursday.


End file.
